Selwyn leaned back against the obelisk and speculated idly on the strange personality hidden in the dark recess of the descending stairs.  It was not difficult to tell that, though he spoke of himself as a sailor, sailoring was not his calling.  There was a subtle cadence of refinement in his voice, an arresting lilt on certain words, that remained on the air after the words had ended.

‘Did the Germans get to Paris?’

‘No,’ said Selwyn; ‘though they were very near it.’

‘Good!  How did our chaps do?’

‘I believe they fought very bravely, but were pretty well wiped out.’

‘I suppose so,’ said the other quietly—­’wiped out, eh?  Tell me—­did the Colonies throw in their lot with us?’

‘All of them,’ said Selwyn, ‘even including South Africa.’

‘What about Canada?’

‘She has over thirty thousand men in England now, ready to cross.’

‘Splendid!’ muttered the fellow.  ’So they’re British after all, in spite of the Yankees beside them. . . .  The cubs didn’t leave the old mother to fight alone, eh?  Jove! but it’s something to be an Englishman today, isn’t it?’

Selwyn made no response, but his brow contracted with the thought that even the flotsam, the dregs thrown up on the river’s bank, were imbued with the overwhelming instinct of jingoism.  He glanced up from the steps, and saw on either side of the obelisk a sphinx, woman-headed, with the body of a lioness, monuments to the memory of Cleopatra.  How little had been accomplished by humanity since the first sphinx had gazed upon the sands of Egypt!  It had seen the treachery and the lust of Antony, the slaughter of men by men led blindly to the carnage. . . .  Was not the smile, perhaps, its hoarded knowledge of the futility of the ages?

‘Can you give me a match?’ asked the man from the steps.  ’Everything on me is soaked.  I’ll come up if you have one, but I don’t want to shift otherwise.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Selwyn, getting up and stamping his feet to restore their warmth.  ’I’ll bring you one, and then I’ll have to move along.’

He produced a silver match-box, and feeling his way carefully down the slippery steps, handed it to the stranger.  Acknowledging the action with a murmur of thanks, the fellow took it, and making a protection with his cape, struck a match to light his pipe.  It flickered for a moment and flared up, illuminating his features grotesquely.

Selwyn uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise and stepped back a pace.  ‘Durwent!’ he cried.

‘Eh?’ snapped the other, dropping the match on the wet stone, where it went out with a faint splutter.  ‘What’s your game?’

‘I could not see you before,’ said the American quickly; ’but though I heard your voice only once, there was something about it I remembered.’

The Englishman struck a second match, and with a casual air of indifference lit his pipe.